


I Knew You Were Trouble

by omgericzimmermann (HMSLusitania)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, as they are wont to be, jack is a deputy, police station au, sort of a meet cute au, the others are just drunk and disorderly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:58:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7194323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSLusitania/pseuds/omgericzimmermann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It should be another ordinary night for Deputy Jack Zimmermann while he guards the drunk tank in Samwell, MA. </p><p>It is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Knew You Were Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what happened. I just...I was going to have them all be arrested but I thought it was funnier if Jack was the deputy who had to babysit them. 
> 
> Disclaimers: I am not Ngozi (obv.) and I HAVE LITERALLY NO IDEA HOW OUR LEGAL SYSTEM WORKS GOD HELP ME IF I EVER GET ARRESTED.

Jack Zimmermann is fairly sure he’s a good person. He has his moments, at the very least. He’s a perfectly decent sheriff’s deputy and is good at his job and he’s always the one to volunteer to babysit the drunk tank overnight in their tiny town. He has never had an incident on record.

He’s going to hold onto the “no priors” thing when he has to explain tonight.

The first person deposited in his drunk tank is a tall – but not as tall as Jack – wiry fellow with unnecessarily long – but stunningly well groomed – hair, a spectacular moustache, and a warm grin. He’s wearing only a pair of cargo shorts even though it is not warm outside. Jack rolls his eyes when the guy says his name is Shitty.

“I need your actual name for the booking sheet,” Jack says.

“B,” the guy says. “Seriously. It’s just B. B. Simeon Knight III if you really want to know.”

Jack is pretty sure he’s high, which goes a long way to explaining his presence in the drunk tank. Jack records B. Simeon Knight’s name on the sheet and gets the charge from the arresting officer – drunk and disorderly with a healthy dose of malicious mischief.

The next people are brought in together, a pair of shockingly large men who bow their heads and sit down across from Shitty in the drunk tank. They’re clearly going for remorseful and apologetic, but after Jack collects their names (Justin Oluransi and Adam Birkholtz) one of them starts giggling lowly and Jack shakes his head. Oluransi punches Birkholtz in the shoulder and the giggling stops. Jack is reminded for some reason of the quote, “A good friend will bail you out of jail, but a best friend will be sitting there next to you laughing.”

The fourth person brought to him is absolutely tiny. He’s blond, he’s got huge brown eyes, his whole face is glowing red from alcohol consumption, and once he’s deposited in the drunk tank, he proceeds to lean up against the bars and stare at Jack with big eyes.

“You’re the prettiest police officer I’ve ever seen,” he says in a heavy southern drawl.

“Deputy,” Jack corrects, trying not to look at his latest acquisition, who is apparently named Eric Bittle.

“You’re the prettiest police deputy I’ve ever seen,” Eric Bittle says, still staring at him. Jack doesn’t look. Because Eric Bittle is definitely the cutest detainee he’s ever had.

The next two men dropped off have clearly been in a fight, but they’re not growling at each other so Jack doesn’t think they were fighting amongst themselves. The one who says his name is Derek Nurse is sporting a black eye and a busted hand. The other, a Will Poindexter, has a bloody nose and similarly damaged knuckles. Nurse takes a step into the tank and alights on Shitty, his face splitting into a grin.

“Shitty!” he says.

“Nursey!” Shitty replies, leaping to his feet to hug him and kiss him on the cheek.

“You guys know each other?” Will Poindexter asks, sitting next to Oluransi and Birkholtz, who are now nodding off on each other’s shoulders.

“We went to high school together,” Shitty says. “Who are you? His latest boyfriend?”

“No,” Poindexter says, flushing bright red.

Jack figures he can let them sort it out while he does paperwork. Eric Bittle is still staring at him.

The first few hours pass without too much drama. The most exciting thing is that Nurse flirts with Poindexter in a completely over the top way, and Poindexter gets redder and redder. It eventually comes out, thanks to Shitty’s interrogation, that Nurse and Poindexter had been in a bar fight together.

“So this is probably the queerest jail cell in the entire state of Massachusetts,” Shitty says sometime around three in the morning. Jack snorts. “Why aren’t you guys taking advantage of your phone call? I’m a law student, see, I know these things.”

“Don’t have anyone to call,” Poindexter says, which Nurse echoes.

“My family lives in Georgia,” Bittle says and no, Jack doesn’t look at him when he sounds sad. He does not see the small slump of Bittle’s shoulders as he sobers up. “What about you, Shitty?”

“I did call my partner but she told me that I got to stay here since I was stupid enough to get myself locked up,” Shitty replies. “God I love that woman.”

“What about you guys, Adam?” Bittle asks. Oluransi has his arms around Birkholtz’s middle and is sleeping with his head on his shoulder.

“Well my family’s in Buffalo and Justin’s are in Toronto, and the only people we’d really call are each other, so,” Birkholtz says. “Unless, hey, Shitty, can spouses bail each other out of jail?”

“Yeah, of course,” Shitty says.

“Even when they’re both in the drunk tank?” Birkholtz asks.

“No,” Jack and Shitty say in unison, and shit. Jack had not intended to get involved in the conversation.

“Then yeah, we’re here all night,” Birkholtz says, kissing the top of Oluransi’s head. Jack doesn’t let himself feel how alone he is. He doesn’t think about it. He does. Not. Think. About it.

The six of them swap stories of how they’ve ended up here after that, and Bittle is oddly evasive. Jack knows they picked him up for being drunk and disorderly, but Bittle’s being way too cagey for that to be the whole story. It’s obvious that the others have been and are in similar situations so surely they wouldn’t judge.

Around five in the morning, they start swapping life stories. Jack doesn’t listen, he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel soft hearted at Birkholtz and Oluransi’s story of meeting as freshmen in college and subscribing at that instant to love at first sight, or their families’ half-hearted bickering about whether or not any kids they adopt would end up being Jewish like Birkholtz’s family or Christian like Oluransi’s family. He doesn’t listen to Shitty’s story about being in law school specifically so he can be one of the lawyers who fights to destroy giant corporations like the one his dad worked for, or his overly graphic recounting of just how much he loves his mixed media artist girlfriend. He stops pretending not to be listening when Poindexter tells them about his family in Maine and his decision to move to Massachusetts and be Out and how that cost him his family. Nurse looks heartbroken about that and hugs Poindexter, which makes Poindexter flush even brighter red.

Nurse’s family is only slightly better by his own telling, in that they just don’t care about him. At all. Bittle’s story hits a little close to home for Jack, at least on the surface. Bittle’s father is a football coach in a small town in Georgia and Bittle moved to Massachusetts for college and always worried that his father would disown him if he came out. The main difference between Jack and Bittle’s relationships with their fathers is that Bittle’s father really did disown him.

“But I mean, I don’t know what he was expecting really,” Bittle says with a casual shrug like this was a few years in the past. Jack surreptitiously checks Bittle’s arrest record and discovers he’s twenty-three so it probably was. “I’m so gay I can’t even walk straight.”

It takes them all a moment to realise that he’s making a joke about getting arrested for being drunk and then all of the men in the drunk tank are laughing. Jack tries to keep his own laugh to himself, but he knows Bittle hears him because he’s looking right at him again.

“So what’s your story Deputy Dreamboat?” Bittle asks. He turns sideways on the bench and leans against Shitty’s shoulder so he can make eyes at Jack. And they’re definitely _eyes_ of the “yes I am undressing you in my head” variety.

Jack doesn’t want to talk. He’s really not supposed to. But he’s been mostly alone at the station since ten pm and he’s tired and the six people in the drunk tank are probably the best company he’s had in a really long time.

“It’s pretty basic,” Jack says. He shrugs. “I moved here for college, got a history degree, became a cop.”

“Yeah, but like, your family,” Shitty prompts.

“My mom was the drama teacher at my high school and my dad was the hockey coach,” Jack says.

“Did you play hockey?” Bittle asks, looking very interested.

“Yeah in high school and college,” Jack says. He can’t stop himself from adding, “My ex-boyfriend plays for the NHL now.”

All six of them gasp at that and look over-excited.

“Who?” Oluransi demands.

Jack shakes his head. “He’s not out,” he says.

“Oh, fair,” Oluransi says. “We actually played in college too.”

Birkholtz nods in agreement.

“That’s funny, so did I,” Poindexter says.

Nurse, Shitty, and Bittle exchange looks.

“We all played hockey in college?” Bittle says. “Aren’t we all just perfect for each other.”

He winks at Jack as he says it and Jack wonders if he’s being more blatant because he mentioned the fact he’s got an ex-boyfriend.

They talk about hockey for a long time, all seven of them. Jack stops pretending he’s not equally invested in their conversation. They discuss their favourite teams and players and although none of them are Sharks fans, they agree the Sharks’ new goalie, Chris Chow, is absolutely the best goalie in the NHL and they are all in agreement he deserved the Calder. Jack only half flinches when one of them mentions how good Kent Parson is.

It’s almost five in the morning when they start swapping phone numbers. They need a pen though, and Jack is very much not supposed to give them one. He forgets, however, that he has one in his back pocket when Bittle summons him over to the cell door. Before Jack is fully aware what’s happening, Bittle has reached through the bars and it seems like he’s about to grope Jack’s ass. Bittle winks at him again when he grabs the pen and retracts his arms into the cell so the lot of them can write each other’s phone numbers down.

“That’s my good pen,” Jack protests. Sharpies are nearly impossible to come by in the station and any Jack finds, he tends to hold onto with a somewhat over the top intensity.

“Sorry honey you can have it back in a sec,” Bittle promises, scrawling his number on Shitty’s forearm. He returns to the cell door where Jack is still waiting and takes Jack’s wrist, pulling his arm through the bars. Jack glowers at him – not meaning it in the least bit – while he scribbles his number on Jack’s arm. Then Bittle returns the sharpie to Jack’s breast pocket, complete with an unnecessary pat on his pectoral. He mumbles something about loving a man in uniform that Jack pretends (poorly) not to hear.

The six in the cell come up with a half-baked scheme to play some scrimmage hockey together and they really want Jack to come. It doesn’t seem to bother any of them that Jack is a cop and they’re all currently in jail.

Around six thirty in the morning, Shitty’s girlfriend shows up to gather him. She claims she wasn’t going to bail him out, just leave him there until the kind state of Massachusetts returned him to her, but apparently his sister had a baby and they’ve got to go to the hospital. Shitty grumbles about it the whole way out the door. Shitty’s girlfriend didn’t bring him a change of clothes.

Eventually, the morning shift shows up and Jack gets to leave. The remaining five are set to be released about half an hour later, but Jack finds himself dithering and doing paperwork that he doesn’t need to do.

“Zimmermann!” the sheriff snaps when it’s eight thirty and Jack has been lurking for half an hour. “Go home!”

“Sorry Sheriff,” Jack mumbles, leaving his desk and heading for the front office. There’s a middle aged, angry looking man there shaking a note at the clerk’s face.

“Sir, you’re going to have to calm down,” Jack says, intervening even though he’s off duty.

“Calm down?” the man bellows, his face going red and his spit flying. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” Jack says.

The man looks even more incensed by this.

“I am the best baker in this city and some punk ass little bastard broke into my shop last night and left this!” the man explodes, slamming the note down on the desk. Jack looks at it.

_So your customers can have something actually worth eating XOXO_

“Were they supposed to eat the note?” Jack asks.

“There were also three pies,” the man says. “But someone broke into my shop!”

“Sir you’re welcome to file a report with the clerk, but you’ll have to lower your voice,” Jack says.

He turns and starts to head for his car, but a strong hand claps him on the shoulder. He turns to discover it belongs to Birkholtz. He tries not to think about the fact he was hoping it was Bittle even though the strength and size of the hand would suggest otherwise.

“So turns out Bitty here owns a bakery,” Birkholtz says. “They’ve got coffee and more importantly, pie. You in?”

“Pie?” Jack repeats, raising his eyebrows at Bittle, who flushes. It’s possibly the most adorable thing Jack has ever seen.

“I make the best pie in all of Morgan and Madison Counties in Georgia,” Bittle says. “And I would’ve won the pie contest here two days ago but the jury was rigged.”

Jack thinks back to the angry man at the counter while he follows Birkholtz, Oluransi, Poindexter, and Nurse towards Bittle’s bakery.

“The man who won wasn’t in the station right now was he?” Jack asks.

“Why he was indeed, Deputy,” Bittle says. He sounds perfectly innocent, but there’s a tinge to his voice.

The bakery is open when they arrive because Bittle has employees who opened in his absence, and they are immediately served slices of pie and cups of coffee. Jack takes a bite of the pie and thinks he might have just died and gone to heaven because there’s no way there could ever be pie that good on earth. The others make unnervingly pornographic noises in response to the pie and Bittle laughs. While the other four are enthusing loudly (“Goddammit why didn’t we meet you last year we would’ve had you cater our wedding!” Oluransi laments) Jack looks around the bakery. It’s full of what he imagines is southern charm, and has a homey sense. Then he catches sight of the chalkboards bearing the menu and the prices. The handwriting is exactly the same as the note the irate baker had slammed on the counter in the station.

Bittle follows his gaze and then looks back at Jack.

“Are you gonna turn me in?” Bittle asks quietly.

“No,” Jack says, and his perfect record is tarnished. But it’s not like Bittle committed a violent crime. He even left the man pie. Sassy, passive aggressive pie, maybe, but pie none the less.

“Well then are you gonna have dinner with me?” Bittle asks, grinning at Jack. “I’m an excellent cook.”

Jack doesn’t think about it nearly as long as he should before saying yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on [tumblr](http://omgericzimmermann.tumblr.com).


End file.
